


High Tide

by coffeequartz



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Conflict, DNF, Discord - Freeform, Dream Smp, Drunk kiss, Flirting, Florida, George POV, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Minecraft, Moving, Occasional Dream POV, Roomates, Separation, Shared Bathroom, Slow Burn, Streaming, beta read but we still die like men, deep breaths it'll be a happy ending, definitely smut, discord masturbation lolol, dream cooks food and it's hot, dream is definitely a top smh, if you read this i'll kiss you on the mouth, learning how to drive heheh, please read this I swear it's good, seriously who doesn't love some good ol' sex scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeequartz/pseuds/coffeequartz
Summary: Diving headfirst into the throes of colorful America, preparing to be the third roommate in Sapnap and Dream’s Florida home, the last thing George needs is more inconsistency. Change. But that’s exactly what he gets when a forgotten midnight discord call witnesses Dream in a decidedly compromising state- and saying George’s name. Now, as the pair accommodate to a close-proximity lifestyle, George can’t deny the growing tension that exists between them, the change that he feared. But could it really be a bad thing?Grappling with rising fame, technological wonder, and shifting friendships, George’s sanity rests on his ability to adapt, whether he will sink or swim. Because that’s the thing about a high tide: the danger is only realized when one is far too deep.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dnf - Relationship, dreamnotfound - Relationship
Comments: 124
Kudos: 254





	1. Sand Dollar

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for taking the time to check out my story. Just in case you get uncomfy: this piece contains explicit language and sexual themes. If that's not cool with you, now might be the time to head out :)  
> Also - CC's have expressed their consent for works like this being published. If at any time they change their minds, this will be deleted.  
> Enjoy!

George sat back into the worn mesh of his gaming chair, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His stomach lurched with hunger, impatiently reminding him of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was today’s only sustenance.

“Okay guys, that should cover it… yep, nothing else to do but catch a plane, Georgie.” Sapnap’s teasing voice echoed in George’s headphones, grating against the fatigue that had settled deep in his muscles. He was excited, but damn, this was a lot.

“Ha. Yeah. Maybe I’ll miss it just for you.” George rubbed his forehead, smirking at the thought. After all of this planning, Sapnap would throw a fit. Just as he could hear a retort stewing over the microphone, though, a huskier voice interjected.

“Oh come on, it’ll be fine. After living with this slob for half a year, I desperately need my little clean freak around, anyway.” George glanced at his impeccable desk, unable to help the way his lips quirked up at Dream's comment even as his heart lurched at the idea of leaving England.

No, he wouldn’t regret abandoning the chilling rainstorms or the smoggy atmosphere of Brighton, but there were parts he already missed, memories he would have to leave in the alleyway down the road where he tried his first beer, or the schoolyard where his first kiss was snuck underneath the monkey bars. And his mom, of course. And Cat.

But he was older now, not the kid who gawked over a thousand subscribers or had to pay bills sitting next to his aunt. He was making the right choice, one that would boost his career and his friendships as well. Financial stability, global viewership, these things he had been chasing after would be that much closer once he touched down in the States. This was what he wanted. This was what Dream would do. He smiled at the thought.

“Well, I’m hungry and I promised I’d play with Karl in an hour, so I’m gonna head downstairs,” Sapnap said. George forgot that Dream and Sapnap shared a mic during these tedious planning days. It was kind of uncomfortable, hearing them flicking things at each other and giggling while he sat halfway across the world, staring at a green-rimmed icon. “Bye-bye, George. See you in tomorrow’s stream.”

“Alright, see you,” George replied, listening to the receding footsteps and Dream’s “What, no goodbye for me?” hollered through the door. He grinned, swiveling in his chair and half-heartedly thinking about what to cook even though he knew the contents of his pantry amounted to about two cans of soup and a ramen pack. He would be ordering takeaway yet again.

“So. How are you feeling about everything?” Dream’s voice was calmer with Sapnap gone, less prone to wheezing laughter or cursing fits. It was comforting.

George glanced around his room, scanning the haphazardly placed cardboard boxes that safely enclosed his old life. It was as though his childhood had gently crumbled after the sudden fame of him and his friends, cremated and reverently set in storage. It wasn’t sad, just nostalgic. Maybe the lack of food was pulling this philosophy from his addled brain.

“I’m alright. Nervous to leave England. Excited to find out how ugly you are.” Dream laughed.

“Keep telling yourself that. You’re gonna short-circuit when you see how hot I am.” George chuckled indignantly, but had to acknowledge the foundation of truth in those words.

What would it be like to see his best friend, after all these years? To finally put a face next to the dark voice that greeted his headset every morning? And how hilariously embarrassing would it be if Dream was incredibly hot? God, the amount of lip-biting comments and flirtatious comebacks from their calls he would regret.

And that was the core of it, really. The fact that everything could change. His and Dream’s friendship had always been comfortable, safe, warming the distance between them with cherished conversations and amusing smack-talk. Thousands of games, millions of fans. George relied on this faceless man more than anyone else. Their intertwined lives were, essentially, the perfect temperature, and George feared how throwing in a house and roommates could turn up the heat, notch by notch, until everything melted.

Not in _that_ way, of course.

“Hm. We’ll see, won’t we? Anyway, I’m fucking starving, so I’m gonna go pick up some food, but keep indulging yourself in the fantasy that you’re hotter than me, Dream,” George said lightly, pushing himself away from his desk and grabbing his hoodie. He could still hear the raucous laughter even with his headphones hung over his monitor, halfway across the room. He smiled.

..........

George, as he had so politely mentioned to Dream, was ravenous. But not too ravenous to avoid laying splayed across his bed for close to an hour, one shoe on, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter. Speculations about George’s move, outrage about Tommy’s most recent SMP conflict, and more littered his timeline with amusing language and colorful adjectives. He grunted at a tweet suggesting a three-way relationship between the Dream Team, and tagged Sapnap with a grin.

He was so dulled by the sweet stupor of social media and the hollowness of his stomach that he hardly noticed the gentle “George” that emitted from the vicinity of his desk.

He lifted his head, stuck between scenarios about an intruder waiting outside his bedroom door and a crazed voice inside his head. But no, there it was again, trailing from his dangling headset into his bleary thoughts.

“George.”

Untangling his legs from the dark blue bed sheets and barely noticing the pitch blackness that had draped itself across his window, he clicked off his phone and trudged to his setup, scrubbing his eyes with one hand and blindly feeling around for the earphones with the other. Was someone trying to get his attention?

“ _George_ ,” met his ear as he slid on the headset partially, but this time he could hear the pleading, heat-filled tone that filed straight through him from Dream’s glowing green icon.

There was no way _this_ was happening. Wide awake now, George sat down slowly and pulled his headphones on all the way, unraveling groans immediately crashing against his ears. The faint, unmistakable sound of wet slapping, of hand against... _not hand_ slithered it’s way up George’s calves, circling his unsteady knees and traveling straight to his groin. What the _hell_?

Back ramrod straight, he hovered his finger over the unmute button, planning it all out in his head.

_Dream, what are you doing?_

_Uh, putting on lotion. Why, what did you hear?_

_Nothing. Just wondering._

_Oh. Okay._

It would be easy. It would be flattened, glossed over, and together, they would act like nothing had ever happened. George would fly to Florida, greeted by his best friends. They would game happily, brainstorming video ideas over Dream’s famous fish tacos and drinking iced beers in the Florida heat.

But George’s finger refused to budge, and the dark moan that followed made his face burn. Did Dream know he was listening? Was this some sort of joke? It had to be, because this _couldn’t_ be real, Dream was saying _George’s_ _name_.

“Don’t...stop.” It was painful, now, the hardness in George’s lap. It begged for his touch, underneath the blankets, Dream’s hands covering his own-

No. Not that. George pinched his arm, harshly, angry with himself for feeling such traitorous emotions. But the thought, now firmly nailed to the front of his brain, sent a swooping feeling to the pit of his stomach. George hung his head, eyebrows furrowed in an effort to _control himself_.

“God, George, right there. Right there.”

Jesus Christ.

George was smoldering now, turning everything he touched to ash as he tried, tried, to regain his composure and press the goddamn unmute button, but everything was going too fast and he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t understand anything but the shadowed, delicious sounds coming from his headset.

“Yes, _fuck_ yes, oh my-” Shuddering moans ricocheted against George’s eardrums as Dream evidently finished, the quiet sound of tissues a dark contrast to the voice that had just filled his head. Gentle muttering, words that George couldn’t make out replaced the fiery groans. He heard shifting, maybe Dream getting up from his chair, and snapped his head up as common sense finally eased the lava pouring into every one of George’s veins. Dream would check discord, see him on it, and _know_.

Wrenching off his headset, George ended the call as quickly and silently as possible, heart still pounding in his throat. He waited for a couple of moments, terrified for the oncoming message he knew he would get from Dream, disgusted by his aroused witness and formally uninviting him from Florida.

But the message never came. George, realizing how stiff his back had become, slumped against his gaming chair, ears burning as he replayed Dream’s private act over and over again in his head. It couldn’t have been real. He must have been in some sort of hunger-induced psychosis.

But George knew better, knew not even his sexually deviant mind could come up with something so gutturally _real_. He allowed his head to hang for a few moments, trying to collect his thoughts only for them to scatter against the waves of arousal once again. _No choice but to give in_ , he ashamedly thought, pressing his hand to the front of his jeans and biting his lip.

This was definitely going to complicate things.


	2. Shifting Currents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the impending flight to Florida tugging at George’s mind and suitcase, his careful composure is threatened in a way that might just overflow his relationship with Dream, drowning him beneath it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm back with a chapter two! I'll be adhering to a more consistent posting schedule in the future, but I figured the story was too bare, so here's your bonus. :)  
> Also - CC's have expressed their consent for works like this being published. If at any time they change their minds, this will be deleted.  
> Enjoy!

_A frog. No, not exactly. More like… a tree. Definitely a tree._

“God, I’m reverting.” George turned his face into his pillow, inhaling the lyrical smells of cotton and lavender. Any other day, and he would be disjointedly laying across his bed, in a deep sleep, dreading the early wakeup time that his and Dream’s synched schedules required. 

Dream. 

But George wasn’t sleeping, not even close. After two hours of shaky Twitter scrolling and one of a midnight UberEats, George had settled into the monotonous childhood game he had once creatively dubbed “Shadow Names”. It was boring and it was embarrassing, but George knew even the menial task of trying to pick out shapes against the fluttering darkness was better than thinking about _it._

And _it,_ humiliatingly enough, had become more than just raspy groaning and crude words uttered from Dream’s side of the call. _It_ now encompassed the discarded pair of jeans, tissue box, and lube knocked over on George’s desk.

His cheeks burned thinking about it. Not only was his school-boy response painfully embarrassing, the fact that it was the most pleasure George had ever experienced while touching himself made him want to lobotomize the part of his brain that remembered the call, burning the memories that made him feel so out of control right from the source. And then, he could finally sleep. 

George allowed the bitter feelings to spread over his tongue and down his throat, refusing to even consider the dark voice he heard echoing in the pit of his stomach. It wanted to lock away the husky words, no, lock away all of Dream so that his sinful hands belonged to George alone. Because Dream made him feel _fucking good_ , and he would do more than he cared to admit to experience it again. 

“Shit,” George hissed into his pillow. These last few days in England were supposed to be placid, reflective moments he could come to when the Florida humidity and strange accents started to overwhelm him. He was supposed to be worried about how to say goodbye to his mother, not obsessing over his faceless best friend’s stupid kink, if he could even call it that.

George’s phone buzzed, dragging him away from comforting spirals of self-pity and into his inbox. A message from Sapnap glowed gently right above his most recent thread with Dream, where they had tumbled over themselves in caps-locked paragraphs and lewd memes, frantically debating the merits of the new patch update. George sighed and continued into Sapnap’s notification. 

_hey, heads up - tmrw’s stream is gonna be a moving Q &A with you, dream and i. sleep tight gogy _ >:)))

George moaned, pressing his head into the sheets. 

“Fucking great.”

..........

Echoing, repetitive blares were the first thing to pull George’s head from under his pillow, the final alarm in a set of five with increasingly obnoxious ringtones.

He slapped blindly at his bedside table until the “off” button was presumably pressed, and laid back, yawning noisily. Dream always joked about how George could sleep through the apocalypse, which seemed more humor than reality until now. 

It was quiet outside, courtesy of the ungodly hour Sapnap had chosen for the stream. Well, ungodly for the UK, anyway. The cacophony of disgruntled traffic beyond his apartment hadn’t begun yet, blowing a fresh breeze into George’s tense body. Sunrise reached it’s blushing rays through his blinds, innocently illuminating the mere five minutes on his clock that he had to get ready until the stream would begin. 

“Shit.”

Dragging himself to the bathroom, George clicked through the stack of notifications from Sapnap, shoving his toothbrush into his mouth and smiling at the file of disappointed memes being sent his way. He was almost always on discord an hour before his friends streams started, knowing how anxiety-inducing it could be to shed the day-to-day persona and slap on a mask of unbothered enthusiasm. 

_mornin gog_

_george_

_ur usually on by now_

_helloooo_

_stream starts in thirty_

_george istg if u sleep in_

_fine bitch_

And that’s where the trail of images started. George chuckled, spitting out his toothpaste and typing a quick response with an apologetic smirk. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ignored his alarms like that, swatting through the fog in his brain to recall when he fell asleep last night. Was it… three? Damn. But why was he up so late?

George sleepily went through the motions of combing his steadily growing hair, pulling on a navy sweatshirt, and scarfing down a protein bar he’d found on his desk. The piling cardboard boxes and late nights on call had made days feel less routine and more abstract, like the pull and push of a tide, dusk coming and going at it’s convenience. George couldn’t even remember what he ate last night.

_i’m starting_

Sapnap’s words crawled across his phone. George swore, tapping on his keyboard to boot up the sleeping monitor and enter the call, kicking a half-filled box to the side. His confusing mass of days didn’t matter, anyway. It was nerves, probably, brought on by the oversensitized excitement deep in his stomach when anyone mentioned Florida. But there was something else there, now. Something warmer. What…?

George’s spine snapped straight the moment he sat into his gaming chair, the position gouging out toe-curling memories from the depths of his mind. Humid, grating, _right there George-_

“George. Finally. Nice of you to join the stream.”

George stared blankly as Sapnap’s voice emptied out of his thoughts and pooled on the floor, forgotten to the fire of Dream. Daylight, in its infinite clarity, had deposited George in front of the ugly truth that what happened last night was real, breath-stealing, and absolutely infuriating. Dream had no right to be so careless, take the chance that George would hear him unknowingly molding their friendship into something neither of them had considered.

“Uh, George? You there?” God, none of this was helping. George needed to _think._ But he couldn’t, because now Dream’s raspy laughter was filtering through his headset, saying something to the effect of “he was stunned into silence by chat”. George didn’t need to look to know DNF spams were undoubtedly pouring through the comments. God, the timing of it all.

“No, no, I’m here. Sorry. I zoned out.” 

“You’re good, man. We were just starting.” George breathed out slowly at Sapnap’s unsuspecting tone. “Send in your donos, guys, we wanted to answer some questions about George’s move.”

The muscles in George’s neck relaxed at a glacial pace as he listened to Sapnap and Dream chatter on about shower routines and kitchen duty, throwing in a comment occasionally but mostly concentrating on the Minecraft treehouse he and his friends had decided to build.

Allowing the consistency of these moments to wrap around him was comforting, but even with the nostalgic bickering and dono chimes, he couldn’t shake the annoyance rising up in his sternum. Dream’s voice, aggravatingly normal, oblivious to George’s plight. This move, once stressful and exciting, was now drugged with the uncomfortable feeling of confusion, and George hated it. 

“When is George’s flight?” Sapnap parroted from the screen, “Why don’t you take that one, Gogy.” George could hear the smirk in his friend’s voice. Sighing, he leaned back and consulted his whiteboard calendar propped against his suitcase, though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, I leave tonight at, like, five. It’s thirteen hours long, but the time difference means I’ll land at midnight. Both of them better drag themselves out of bed and pick me up.” 

Dream chuckled, and George ignored the flare behind his ribs at the sound. What had gotten into him?

“Maybe we’ll force you to call an Uber.”

“Maybe I’ll just fly back to England.”

Their banter continued for a few minutes, and George released a breath. Rationality reasoned with his frantic thoughts: _I’m in a weird mood because I wasn’t expecting what happened last night. I’ll get over it. This feels normal._

They had begun constructing the bedroom of the treehouse now, George methodically laying down carpet while Sapnap cut windows from the birch. Night had come, but snug inside a lighted house, mobs were nowhere to be found.

George glanced up at the glass ceiling and sighed, always surprised by how breathtaking the video game sky was. Living in a different country from his friends meant everything was an obstacle, a difference he couldn’t relate to. But in these worlds, they all looked at the same stars, all fought off the same monsters. It was embarrassingly poetic.

“Dream, what are you doing?” Sapnap chortled through his headset. George shook himself out of his thoughts and glanced over to see Dream’s avatar placing one double bed and one single right next to the chests. 

“This is where we’ll sleep. What, did you think George and I _wouldn’t_ be sharing?” George froze at the teasing words, silent to the overlapping laughter that followed.

One glance at the chat told him all he needed to know about his fan’s reactions to Dream’s words. Any other day, and George would have joined in, rolling his eyes good-naturedly against the key-smashes and clips. But after last night? Dream’s flirtatious joking struck an entirely different cord in his bones. 

Quietly saddling next to Dream’s skin, George promptly destroyed half of the bed and collected it, placing it against the opposite wall without a word. He felt oddly satisfied with the question marks that replaced capital letters in the chat. But it was the silence in the discord call that hollowed George enough to make a feeble attempt at a joke.

“Don’t expose us, Dream.” He hated himself as he said it. It all suddenly felt too fake, superficially crowd-pleasing hungry fans. It was stupid. Why couldn’t they just play the goddamn game without Dream’s blatant lack of boundaries getting in the way? 

His comment was apparently normal enough, though, judging by the light laughter that prefaced more gaming and dono questions, but it didn’t melt the cool discomfort deep within George’s chest. This rollercoaster of a stream was quickly getting the better of him, something that needed to change if he was to survive Dream’s tantalizing, no, _agonizing_ behavior.

“Hey, I’ve gotta mute myself for a sec. Be right back.” George didn’t wait for a response before shoving off his headphones and standing up, running a hand through his dark hair. _Pull yourself together._

On the precipice of a vibrant new life, he couldn’t let such over-sensitive prudishness unravel his plans. Every young man in the wash of sexual development had tried questionable things, only to quickly realize the absurdity. George had just happened to catch Dream’s. And, really, how could he be sure he even understood the situation? Five minutes of groaning didn’t have to amount to anything more than a forgotten prank. 

George felt his tense limbs relax slightly, though he wasn’t completely appeased. There were still details, inquiries, heady memories that had surfaced at the sound of Dream’s voice that George needed to go over. Yes, more than anything, he needed time to _think._ But in the middle of a stream with thousands of trained ears and endless speculation, now was not the time. _Soon._

George re-entered the call only to be plunged into an off-key Happy Birthday sung gleefully by Sapnap, comically harmonized with Dream’s exasperated laughter. 

“Oh, George! Thank god. I told Sap it was Drista’s birthday and I think he broke my headset.”

George chuckled, letting the haze of his friends’ arguing reassure him. It was familiar, yet so far away. A distance to be covered very soon, George remembered. _Soon._

“By the way, George, chat thinks you’re being sus,” Sapnap prodded.

George felt his stomach sink as he scrolled tensely through the flood of comments, but was even more bothered by his friend’s tone. Gentle yet sincere. _Are you okay?,_ Sapnap was asking.

Guilt over ladening such worry onto the man chafed at George, mouth sour at the thought of becoming a burden. But, as he had promised himself during the one-man intervention minutes ago, confusion or anxiety had no place against the public eye. 

“It’s alright chat, I’m fine. Been busy packing. Or maybe unpacking, because I’m already in Florida.”

Tossing open the gates to a slew of fan conspiracies and rowdy donos, George sat back in his chair, chuckling at Sapnap and Dream’s frantic damage-control and amused insults. Things felt, well, normal. George smiled. 

And with that, the mood eased itself into warmth again. Sapnap’s excitement at the viewership of his stream soon became apparent, and even Dream lightened up on his competitiveness during a test race of their jungle parkour. Fluidly answering questions and breaking blocks, George shoved the upcoming flight to the back of his mind. 

_Who is the better cook?_

Dream, it was decided, after a heated comparison between Sapnap’s loaded calzones and Dream’s shrimp risotto. George was quickly thrown out of the running when he mentioned his unseasoned eggs with cheddar. 

_Where is Patches?_

Living at the house, happily basking in the square of light that came in from Dream’s window every morning.

_Which room is George’s?_

A question met with giggles and indignant responses, something the trio had comically debated almost every night over discord and bedwars. As chat blew up in speculation, George jumped at the chance to explain before Sapnap could soil his gaming reputation.

“No, no, no, here’s what happened. I was literally cheated out of the good room.” Forging past his friends’ spluttering, George continued, “There’s an upstairs with two rooms and a downstairs with one, as you all know. Well, the two upstairs _happen_ to connect to the same bathroom.” Dream wheezed in the background. “Since Dream already claimed one of them, I gambled Sapnap as to who got the other. And… I lost,” George bit off, cringing at the hollering that followed. 

“ _I fucking beat George at manhunt and now he has to share a bathroom with Dream!”_ Sapnap cackled. A rather unnecessary summary, George thought bitterly.

Nevertheless, Dream’s laughter and chat’s mayhem overtook any uncomfortable feelings threatening to resurface as George turned over the tiny detail in his mind. Before, it hadn’t seemed like too big a deal, but now it felt monumental. Hearing Dream game, listening to the tap turn on, bursting in on each other for a good scare, things that couldn’t help but send anxiety and joy intermingling up his spine.

Another round of laughter circled through the call as Sapnap made a joke George didn’t have time to catch, forcing a few unsteady chuckles from his mouth before giving in to a sudden yawn. What time was it, anyway?

Glancing at the clock, everything around him suddenly seemed to turn in a dizzying haze. Three hours until five. Unlike the past few months, he couldn’t demote the move to the position of ‘later’ anymore. This was happening _now,_ and it sent static to the pit of his stomach. But, delaying it would be halting the inevitable, and what George needed more than anything was preparation. 

“Hey guys, I’ve gotta go finish packing. I leave for the airport soon.” Smiling slightly at the chorus of ‘ooo’’s that met his ears, he signed off of Minecraft and Discord with a suggestive “see you both soon” and plopped in front of his boxes with an exhausted huff. _Just one more obstacle,_ he thought. One more challenge to bridge, and everything would be okay. He would be near his friends, finally grasp the elusive perfect career, and make a real life for himself. 

_Soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. Like ten people have read this. Which may seem insignificant, but like I genuinely thought no one was gonna see it. So that's sick, you all are super cool. :)  
> This chapter wasn't too eventful, but definitely some important plot filler and emotional context. Stay tuned for a lengthy chapter three sometime this week: Overseas.  
> As always, feel free to leave comments, criticism, or ideas down below! 
> 
> Excerpt from upcoming chapter because I love to drag the anticipation out as long as possible heheh -  
> "'Excuse me, did you say landing? Like we’re here?' George squinted at the flight attendant, heart lurching. ‘Here’ meant Florida. ‘Here’ meant he was going to be face-to-face with his best friends for the first time within the hour."  
> Ooooo, the potential. Stay tuned!  
> <3 Nev


	3. Overseas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tide is rising now, as George boards the plane that will deposit him in front of a relationship he simultaneously fears and desires, an incurable ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I KNOW I said I was going to space these out more, but I can't rest easy knowing this story has only covered the beginning so far. I mean, we haven't even met Dream (i see you, chapter four).   
> Anyway, I'll be more reliable soon, but first let's build that anticipation babyyy.   
> As per usual - CC's have expressed their consent for works like this being published. If at any time they change their minds, this will be deleted.

George raked his hands through the pebbles of Brighton beach, upturning the dusky blues and grays to search for a perfect stone. Circular, flat, unscarred. The trick, in George’s opinion, was to find a rock with no texture. Smoothed and glossed by the ocean, years of tide plucking away armor. His neck was stiff and achy, but one look up ahead renewed his weary muscles. 

George’s mother, grey hairs in her chestnut braid illuminated by the sunset, spine bent like water-warped boards, cradling her stone collection that was twice as big as George’s. He huffed. Despite years of noiseless searching, her sun-spotted hands were always more nimble in the way she picked through the mass of pebbles. George found it reluctantly inspiring. 

“I’m almost done, Georgie. How far along are you?” His mother asked, catching his gaze. He brought his hands to his head, arching his body in an overdue stretch. 

“I’m not even close. Have any spares?” She laughed, bringing her braid around her shoulder. Carefully steering her bare feet from any shards of rock, his mother peered at the haul in his bucket and tsked lightly. 

“It’s alright. We can share,” She said, bringing an arm around George’s shoulder. He inhaled her gentle scent, a dreamy mixture of salt and vanilla. 

It reminded him of their monthly tradition that occurred after a backbreaking day of stone collecting: ice cream at Cinnamon Cone, strawberry for him and french custard for her. The moment her spoon prodded the bowl was the beginning of their breathless debate as to who had the better assortment, almost always ending in ice cream smeared on noses and aching laughter. 

George had to bite his lip to bring himself to the present, chastising himself for not appreciating the finale of their tradition. His mum would still go stone-searching, but without him, a thought that made his heart twinge. Her wandering soul had always needed a lighthouse, and here he was, leaving her. They wouldn’t even be able to enjoy a last dessert. The old Subaru was unusually cramped with suitcases, one stop away from the airport where George would say his goodbyes. 

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” 

They weren’t the pair to take stones home. What would be the use? George’s mother once lectured him with far-off eyes about the ocean’s ownership of the rocks. It was one of their wilder days, but George still took it to heart, beginning to see the water as a sort of home. He thought of their outings as restorations rather than games, conductors of misguided pebbles.

“Your turn to do the honours.” His mother held out the bucket, a smile shimmering in the amber of her gaze. 

George laughed, plunging his hand in while looking up at the sky (the best skipping stones were selected purely by fate) and pulled out an orange disc the size of his palm. Definitely his mum’s find. He took a deep breath, winding back and releasing with a snap of his wrist to pull a remarkable seven skips. It felt strangely emotional to watch the jumps slowly pitter out, the stone sinking into an unfamiliar depth. 

“Alright, not too shabby of a start! Let’s hope these old bones don’t fail me now.” And thus began the playful competition of stone-skipping, the duo arching their throws as though a rock might one day travel all the way to the melting sun and stop time, letting them relive such moments forever. 

George, even with all the litheness of a twenty four-year-old male, couldn’t overcome the wise calculations he saw reflected into the glass-like sea from his mother’s eyes. It didn’t matter. The simple familiarity was enough, the coziest way to leave his family and country. 

And when the light slipped down the sky, George’s shadow lengthening across uneven terrain, there was the flickering, hopeful thought that this would always be his home, always stable and safe and removed, even as he plunged himself into the bright colors and loud sounds of what he knew was the right choice. As he changed and morphed, acclimating to this uncertain temperature of Dream, his mother would still be here. Patient and warm. Steady and protecting. Her honey gaze would find his across kilometers of distance, and the knowledge stabilized him. 

Hands dusty with sand and salt, they trudged back to the car, arm in arm, silently agreeing that a strawberry cone and a bucket-full of stones were always a plane ride away. 

..........

George settled into his seat, muscles weak with excitement and grief and anxiety. Every feeling, really. A palette of emotions, hand-picked to tie his stomach into knots. 

He shoved the sandwich his mum had made him deep into his backpack, mouth twisting at the thought of trying to eat. Instead, he pressed his forehead against the cool plastic of the window (a seat he paid good money for) and tried to pick his mother’s car out from the vast, glittering parking lot. Useless, of course. But it was comforting to hold onto a piece of home in his vision, even as the engine rumbled in the gut of the plane and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his sight blended into night-washed clouds and black sky. 

Their goodbye had been difficult but peaceful after such a nostalgic evening. His mother had cried. He had felt his heart tighten and begged her not to. 

There was guilt, a lot of it, stopping up his normal pathways of emotion. Things felt oddly constricted after they had parted ways, everything moving too fast, normal sounds rattling against his ears. Yes, he was an adult, but he ashamedly relied on his mother quite a bit. Their relationship would exist over the phone now, or at least until Christmas when he promised to fly her out. Until then, that part of George would have to bury itself in the folds of excitement and freedom, a frozen feeling in the shade of his memories. 

George turned ahead finally, his neck beginning to ache from stretching to see his mother. He found the view of the seat in front of him rather boring, though, choosing to restlessly toy with his phone instead. 

Twitter proved remarkably dry. Between countless “George is moving!” rants and SMP conversations were the comments that made him most uncomfortable, tweets gently analyzing the confusing relationship between Dream and George on their last stream together. And it wasn’t bullshit fan behavior, either. They were right. 

Gingerly clicking on some of the referred clips, George cringed at his impassive tone and stiff gameplay. The further he went down the tunnels of social media, the worse he felt.  He knew that, like any other Twitter infatuation, the issue would fade within a day. But it didn’t change the foreign pressure that eased against his chest whenever he considered how Dream must be feeling, whether he noticed or cared about George’s demeanor. 

_ You’re an acquired taste,  _ one of George’s ex’s had said long ago. Was that how Dream felt? And why did it matter so much now?

A flock of flight attendants spread themselves across the isles, pulling life jackets and masks out of compartments to begin the routine demonstration. George sighed, wondering if he would always be stuck in such perpetual confusion.

_ Have a good flight. Can’t wait to see u. _

A text from Dream, funnily enough, lighting up his screen as the wheels of the plane began to churn beneath him. The words made George’s pulse flutter, though he couldn’t fathom why. He didn’t understand why he felt compelled to reread it so many times, either. 

_ Can’t wait to see u. _

George supposed there was nothing wrong with feeling flattered, as long as he didn’t take it too far. As long as it was never unearthed from the soil of his mind, never exposed to the light of day. And it wouldn’t, he assured himself.  _ Shouldn’t be difficult. _

..........

_ Approximately five hours, 27 minutes until arrival _

George stared at the animated plane traveling over a choppy blue ocean on the screen in front of him, willing the little graphic to fly faster. 

He had gotten through one and a half movies before tiredness overcame him, but when he tugged his hoodie over his eyes, nothing happened. Sleep did not come. 

What did come, much to George’s chagrin, were tingling fantasies about seeing Dream for the first time. Most he could consider appropriate, like a breathless swim in the ocean at dusk or a rowdy night out with Sapnap, but when the first image of himself sinking to his knees above Dream’s looming figure surfaced, he forced himself to pry his eyes open and instead stare at the tiny screen, trying to ignore the sudden heat in his cheeks. 

_ Approximately five hours, 22 minutes until arrival.  _

Fuck.

The pudgy man sleeping next to George turned his head sharply, eyebrows furrowing in his slumber, muttering something vaguely profane that caused George to chuckle. Flight attendants whispered quietly while clicking across aisles, an occasional snore echoing from somewhere against the shadows. Outside, inky air rushed past the plane. Stars shimmered in the distance, though their foreign luminescence made them feel only feet away. 

George imagined extending his arm and reaching, past plastic windows and reinforced metal, out into the breathy atmosphere. The clouds that scattered themselves in a fluffy net just below the plane would catch him if he were to fall, he trusted. 

And here it was, the moment he had been chasing since the upending discord call. A beat of silence, a chance to reflect.  George’s mother always teased him about how he lived in his own head, the way he could wrap himself up in noiseless pondering for hours. 

But despite her warm tone, it was one of George’s most dangerous qualities. In the caverns of his thoughts, it was all too easy to get lost, forget himself to his pitch-black imagination. And yet, it was how George survived this vast and noisy world of decent fame. The only place he was ever really alone was his mind, an untouchable sanctuary.

He leaned back against the worn leather of his seat, watching air and stars and sky whisk him to a foreign world that felt so familiar. Settling into the rhythmic lull of his thoughts, George didn’t notice when his eyes drifted closed, or when his head tipped to rest against the wall of the plane. Silently stolen from his only moment of privacy, sleep cradling his body, George relaxed onto the black tapestry of night and wordlessly gave up his promise to ‘ _ soon’.  _

..........

“Excuse me, sir, we’re landing. Sir? The plane is landing.” 

George jerked awake, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh light suddenly penetrating his gaze. With a click, the beam disappeared as the flight attendant pocketed her flashlight. 

“Very sorry, sir. I just need you to fasten your seatbelt and be alert for touchdown.” 

Thoughts jumbled like mismatched puzzle pieces, George rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to block out the chatter echoing throughout the plane; a far cry from the blissful silence he had been cocooned in moments ago. He swallowed thickly, sitting up straight and trying to collect himself. But wait… touchdown?

“Excuse me, did you say landing? Like we’re here?” George squinted at the flight attendant from over the pudgy man’s balding head. ‘Here’ meant Florida. ‘Here’ meant he was going to be face-to-face with his best friends for the first time within the hour. His heart lurched, unable to comprehend the upcoming encounter.

“Yes sir. Welcome to America.” The woman smiled knowingly and walked away, continuing her pleasant murmuring as other individuals were dragged from their uncomfortable slumbers. 

Holy  _ shit.  _

George was not ready. Barely half a day out from leaving his home and family, jetlagged beyond belief, not to mention still reeling from Dream’s discord call, there was not a single ounce of preparation George had managed to accumulate on the flight. He felt as though someone had slapped a blindfold on him before telling him to hit a bulls-eye. Raw anxiety churned in the pit of his stomach. 

_ Approximately six minutes until arrival. _

George’s heart began to pound, hands slick as he pulled his backpack to his chest and tugged on his shoes. While restless conversation began to grow throughout the plane, he concentrated on pressing his feet flat against the ground to keep from bouncing his knee. The physical betrayal of his anxiety was not lost to the pudgy man, who glanced at him a beat too long before turning away and coughing into a handkerchief. 

_ Approximately five minutes until arrival.  _

A male flight attendant’s departure instructions and well-wishes crackled blindly through the loud speaker. 

George shoved his earphones in, too jittery to turn music on but unable to tolerate the swelling of chatter any longer. Shimmering blackness still coated his window, as the plane had literally chased the night across the world, but a new sort of twilight had seemed to emerge while he slept. Replacing the placid, moon-lit sky was a darkness full of promises, as though the outdoors was holding its breath to keep from spilling secrets. It sent shivers up George’s spine. 

_ Approximately two minutes until arrival.  _

The breathless swooping feeling as the plane dipped to the airport hardly registered with George. His mind was moving a thousand times faster, well beyond the steel walls and instead buried in the building where he imagined Dream was waiting. What would he say? Were they supposed to hug? George suddenly felt uncomfortable with the tousled hair and bleary eyes he knew he was sporting, and the thought shook him. He had never cared about such things around his friends before. 

_ Approximately- _

George felt the plane rattle as wheels evidently touched pavement. 

He stilled, trying to recover from the eerie poignance of the moment. He was really, truly, in America now, England 14 hours of restless ocean away. He was a foreigner, overeager and underprepared for the vast country that lay ahead of him. As the plane slowed down, his life was just beginning to gain traction. George exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Seatbelts unclicking and luggage rustling, the plane began to empty as flight attendants ushered elderly couples and young children past the hatch. George blinked, unable to register much of the ten minutes they must have waited in the queue. Everything seemed coated in frantic ignorance, blind to the world as the static in his mind blanketed his senses. 

The pudgy man was gone, save for a single handkerchief discarded on the seat, and George was suddenly struck with the thought that he  _ could not  _ leave the plane. He had overestimated himself thinking he could move countries so young, leave his home and family. He couldn’t possibly face his friends.

Reaching into his sweatshirt pocket for his phone to call his mother, George clicked through notifications and old texts with tingling fingers, heart in his throat. As he frantically entered the messages app, though, a calm sentence cluttered with meaning was the first thing to meet his wide eyes. Black text reverently set against dull grey, only long enough for one line of scrutiny. 

_Can't wait to see u._

Dream. 

George's mind stuttered, failing to reconcile his desire to avoid the situation with the intense _need_ to fulfill his friend's expectation. It burned, this fear of what was to come, but letting Dream down would hurt even more. 

The blinking curser in the text box reminded George of the push and pull of an ocean he had just left. An ocean he was returning to. _Stand up._

George stood up. With adrenaline infused limbs, he pulled his backpack onto his shoulder and thanked the flight attendants before venturing out onto the uncovered platform, slipping his phone into his pocket. 

Humidity was George’s first welcome, slithering through his hair and down his throat in an oppressive greeting. He released a breathless laugh at the way it pressed against his skin, registering the balmy, floral scent that followed with a deep inhale. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced in Brighton, and it sparked an amusing sort of recklessness deep inside of him. No wonder Dream was so unabashed in everything he did. 

_It’s all in the heat_ , George thought with a smirk. 

Beginning his trek across the platform, he marveled at the thickness of the wind, the way it twirled the smell of the sea across the concrete in a fragrant waltz. Ebony sky and dusty stars arching themselves across the atmosphere felt extra bright, illuminating George in a bizarre sort of spotlight. 

It gave him peace, for a moment. It at least allowed the suffocating anxiety of the plane to dissipate slightly, giving him room to collect himself before traveling through the doors to the gate where he knew his friends would be waiting. Painful pinpricks tickled his ribs as he imagined it, the build-up finally giving way to a loud reunion and a new home. 

But still, fear held him back. 

The idea of change cemented his feet just before the black sliding entrance, heart in his throat, staring up at  _ GATE A24  _ with a tight chest. Fingers tapping agitatedly against the phone in his pocket, George imagined what lay just beyond, the career his whole body itched for. He imagined warmth, laughter, a sense of belonging. He imagined drives to the ocean and drinks on the porch. He imagined Dream’s fiery green eyes. 

And with that, George stepped through the threshold and into the arms of a future he couldn't possibly predict. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I really did that. Sorry guys. I swear, though, our beloved green man will make an entrance next chapter. Let's get some sexual tension going, shall we? >:) Next chapter: Making Waves  
> Of course, feel free to leave comments, criticism, or ideas down below!
> 
> Excerpt from upcoming chapter because I am a dramatic whore - "George grasped the doorknob and pushed, expanding the thin sliver of light to a wide-open portal.   
> 'Nick?' Called a voice."   
> <3 Nev


	4. Making Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humid night and sea-scented air whisk George into the endlessly bright current of Florida, perfuming his senses with deadly anticipation as he finally meets his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey heyyy, happy V-day!  
> I'm posting chapter four a little early because I want everyone to become as obsessed with the team being fictionally reunited as I am. Did anyone say chef dream?  
> Thank you for the love so far! It means the absolute world that people like reading this as much as I like writing it.  
> As always - CC's have expressed their consent for works like this being published. If at any time they change their minds, this will be deleted.  
> Enjoy!!!

“ _George!”_

For a moment, the deep voice paralyzed George as he pushed through the crowd of families, clutching his backpack with white-knuckled hands. But the words weren’t the same as the ones he still lost his breath over, the ones shoved desperately through the discord call late at night. No, this voice was decidedly less heat-filled, more jolly, laced always with teasing laughter. George would recognize it anywhere.

“Sapnap?!” 

A familiar face stepped around a group of people just as he responded, smile wide and arms open. “Dude, hey! What’s up?”

Slightly hysterical laughter bubbling around George’s words, he allowed Sapnap to pull him into a back-slapping hug, giddy at the long-awaited culmination. This had always been a seemingly improbable goal of their gaming, something the group had wishfully organized through their headsets. The reality of the situation overwhelmed George, reminding him of his initial excitement that had been railroaded by unnecessary nerves. His worry had been for nothing. Everything was clearly fine. 

Or, almost everything.

Stepping back, George glanced around in confused anticipation while still engaging Sapnap in his energized chatter. Scanning for the known characteristics of the _other_ member of their team, specifically a major height indication, George’s spine stiffened at Sapnap’s clueless clarification; “Oh, forgot to mention. Dream’s at home finishing up a few things, but he’ll be ready when we get there. He can’t wait to see you.”

“Oh, yeah that’s cool.”

It was probably nothing, George tried to rationalize, or at least nothing to do with him. He was probably cramming in extra work at the house, the businessman that he was, and would run down to greet George upon his arrival. It was simply an unfortunate prolonging of the anticipation.

But he couldn’t shake the chill circling his chest, especially knowing Dream, notorious for his loyalty and affection towards his friends. Something seemed off, and George felt his ears grow red at the thought that it had anything to do with their one-sided discord encounter.

“Well, attendants already got your luggage, so I think we’re good to head out. You ready?” Sapnap stretched his back and smiled, clapping George on the shoulder. “The drive’s about an hour, not too bad. I borrowed Dream’s car.”

George took a deep breath and grinned, banishing the intrusive anxiety about Dream to the back of his mind so he could instead focus on his present friend. It was rather embarrassing to let the man puppet his emotions so obviously, refusing to indulge any longer. If Dream wanted to be annoyingly mysterious, that was on him. George, in his defiance, would enjoy every moment of this strange journey. 

“Yeah, let’s go. Try to crash.” 

Sapnap snorted, leading George through the maze of gates and hallways with easy banter, reminding him of their countless Minecraft evenings together. It was comforting. No, it was more than that. It was _fun,_ a feeling that had unknowingly evaded George for too long as he struggled to weight normalcy and fame. His cheeks began to hurt from smiling, which only made him want to laugh longer. Judging by the army of insults and teasing thrown his way, George wagered Sapnap felt the same. 

As Florida humidity intermingled with adrenalized warmth, uncomfortable heat began to prick at George’s torso. He released his backpack and pulled his sweatshirt over his head just as Sapnap’s “Here we are” muffled through the fabric.

Yanking the item off all the way, George paused at the image of a bright red Mustang glimmering patiently against dull concrete, mouth dropping open as he tugged his shirt down. 

“What Dream lacks in his shoe game,” Sapnap said as he lifted the keys from his pocket and threw George’s bag into the backseat, “He makes up for in his car choice. Get in!”

“No way,” He laughed, gingerly opening the passenger door to immaculate black leather. Sliding in, he scanned the polished wood and tinted glass in silent awe. From the rearview mirror hung a layered gold chain, clinking together gently as though accepting George’s praise. 

“I know. I can’t believe he let me take it. He probably wanted to impress you,” Sapnap said, shifting into drive and peeling away from the curb. George felt his lips twitch at the thought.

He watched his friend move fluidly through gears, pulling onto the highway that seemed to stretch infinitely against the intoxicatingly black sky. City lights twice as piercing as the ones in Brighton flashed against his vision, a rhinestone blur of color. Gentle beats from the radio hummed under his fingertips.

“Maybe he’ll teach me to drive with it.” George hummed jokingly, drawing a huff from Sapnap.

“Oh, he would.” 

Unable to decipher what that meant, George continued the languid banter, teasing Sapnap over his shaggy haircut and playfully refuting the claim that he ruined their latest Minecraft challenge. Lazy air conditioning spilled into the car as they talked, ruffling George’s hair. The world felt so large, cocooned in the luxurious vehicle. It felt playful, promising, something akin to a home. As nervous as he was about leaving England, the peace that this place brought him was undeniable. And he hadn’t even seen the ocean. 

Several times, Sapnap’s phone buzzed, which he checked with a conspiratory smile at red lights. George pretended not to notice, knowing the ringtone was uniquely Dream’s. His own cell remained dark, devoid of any welcome. He tried not to let it grate against him, not to let it burrow against the worry he was doing a remarkable job at ignoring. _He couldn’t wait to see you, remember?_

“So, George, what do you think he looks like?” Sapnap asked with a smirk, flipping on his turn signal.

They both knew who _he_ was. George chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat. “I dunno. Fucking tall, I guess.” 

“Okay, yeah,” Sapnap mused, “But, like, what else? I was surprised when I first saw a picture of him. It wasn’t what I expected.”

George turned his head to look at his friend, eyebrows furrowing. What did that mean? “Well, he said he had blonde hair, right? And green eyes. And… I’m not sure. I’ve only ever really pictured his avatar. I think that’s why I’m so nervous.”

“Hold on, you’re _nervous?!”_ Sapnap burst. George frowned at his cackling, immediately regretting saying anything.

“Yes, of course I’m nervous.” He rolled his eyes at his friend’s continued taunting, “Shut up. It’s not weird to be a little apprehensive.”

“Kidding, kidding. It’s just funny considering the circumstances.” Sapnap breathed deeply, unable to hold back a grin.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” George opened his mouth, ready with a retort that it, in fact, mattered _very much,_ but was interrupted. “I’m really glad the plan worked out. It’s gonna be so fun living together.”

George slumped against the seat, dropping the subject with a begrudging smile at the man’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, I’m excited. I had this idea for a video where we all…” 

Conversation continued, carefully steering away from the subject of Dream as the car sped through miles of lush forest and dark sky. George marveled at the sheer openness of it all, shocked at the vast plots of green, bright, undeveloped land. It was simultaneously calming and unnerving.

Sapnap was frequently stalled by a yawn, courtesy of the late hour, but George could barely control the adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream as the GPS whittled away at minutes and highways gave way to residential streets, unable to stop his foot from tapping even when Sapnap gave him a look. 

It wasn’t long before they turned into a neighborhood marked with fluorescent blue and pink flowers, the Mustang humming along warm cement. George suddenly felt unbearable heat wind it’s way up his ribs, cracking the window desperately only to find a balmy breeze that didn’t give him the oxygen he needed. 

“Holy shit, it’s so hot. Is it always like this?” 

Sapnap laughed, flicking the air conditioning to a higher degree and rolling George’s window back up. “Pretty much. The tropical storms are cool, though. It’s, like, sun and lightning at the same time.” 

“That’s kind of terrifying.”

Sapnap shrugged, smiling, “Sometimes.”

But his response was lost on George, as the car had just rolled into a spacious driveway lined in emerald ferns. Cream walls with black trim loomed above them, exactly what George imagined a stereotypical beach house to look like. A porch swing twisted idly against the night wind, occasionally bumping into a glimmering abalone shell wind chime. All of the windows were dark, save for the dim yellow light spilling from underneath the front door. A bright red front door. George’s stomach twisted.

“Dream’s mom helped us with the design,” Sapnap said, as if reading George’s thoughts. He sat back in his seat, pulling the keys out of the ignition and turning to face his friend. George felt unnerved by his knowing gaze, tugging his discarded sweatshirt closer to his chest.

“Hey, dude, all jokes aside, you don’t have to be nervous. It’s chill. Dream is excited to see you.” 

For a moment, honeyed warmth spread through George’s limbs. But it was immediately chased by the freezing realization that his anxiety was much too apparent if _Sapnap_ could tell. How the hell was he going to manage this? Dizziness tossed against his vision, eyes drawn back to the light under the door.

“Ha. Funny. I’m fine, so let’s just go,” he huffed. Sapnap chuckled a ‘whatever you say’ under his breath, sliding out of his seat and opening the trunk.

George stepped out as well, once again stolen by the arching black above him. A magnolia tree waved from across the street, waxy leaves twirling in silent greeting. He wished he could stay out here, delay the inevitable that had been chasing him since he boarded the plane. Whatever waited beyond the crimson door felt chaotic, unmanageable, and George could hardly control the tension in his body.

“Alright, Georgie,” Sapnap smirked, throwing him his backpack, “Lead the way.” 

With a reluctant smile, George tossed a middle finger over his shoulder and slowly mounted the stoop. It felt like walking through the airport gate entrance all over again. Hands slick, stomach dropping, tongue numb. And yet, that meeting had worked out great. Why couldn’t this one? Wind chimes guiding him forward, George grasped the doorknob and pushed, expanding the thin sliver of light to a wide-open portal. 

“Nick?” Called a voice. 

..........

George stepped into the home dazedly, smells of spice and meat carried through yellow light and warm air, the presumed clinking of utensil against pan and sizzling oil echoing gently. The entrance was decorated with lush plants and a long wooden table scattered with mail, a prerequisite to the hallway where the sounds originated. George tried to find his voice, but failed, instead relying on his instinctual pace down the hardwooded corridor. He could barely breathe. 

“Nick plus one,” Sapnap’s voice trailed amusedly after him. The clinking stopped. George paused at the threshold of the hallway.

“George.” It was soft, happy, laden with a hundred conversations and a thousand memories. George turned the corner. 

There stood a man holding a forgotten spatula in hand, green hoodie sheathed in a black apron with _What’s cookin’, good lookin’?_ scrawled across the front in red font. Drawing his eyes up, George felt his inhale waver at a strong, stubbled jaw line, forest eyes, and fluffy hair flopped across his forehead in a dirty blonde mess. Dream looked speechless himself, though George couldn’t fathom why. 

“That’s a stupid apron,” He blurted breathlessly.

“George!” Dream exclaimed, tearing his gaze from their bizarre staring contest and hurrying forward to envelop him in a tight hug. The smell of heat and rain rested on his collar, which was unfortunately the extent of George’s reach as the taller man squeezed happily.

Hot, bright fireworks lit George’s ribs as they embraced. Dream’s arms felt warm, belonging. With so many emotions, decisions, and conversations placed on their meeting, an oppressive sense of duty had begun to take over. But now, in a sweet-smelling reunion, those expectations had crumbled. Mostly.

“Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the airport. I wanted to, but Sap and I can’t budget our time for shit and I got stuck making dinner.” Dream stepped back, allowing a draft of cold air to slip between them. He gestured to the several stained cutting boards and full sink, shaking his hair out of his eyes. 

“No, no, it’s cool,” George said, still unable to regain his voice fully. The situation felt surreal. “It smells wonderful.”

“Wuhn-da-fol,” Sapnap snickered in the background, mimicking his accent while plucking silverware from a drawer. George scowled.

“Well, I think we’re ready.” Gesturing for him to follow, Dream resumed his position at the stove, amsed and pointing out various recipes. Under the kitchen light gleamed buttery scalloped potatoes, a green-flecked bowl of couscous, thick steaks stacked on a plate, and finally a tangy red wine sauce, the culprit of Dream’s incessant stirring. 

It looked delicious, all of it, and George told him as much. But the food was not what attracted George’s gaze. _Dream_ now seemed to puppet every one of his senses, curiously energized as a half-smile perpetually ghosted his lips. Maybe it was because of the atmosphere, maybe the situation, but George felt as though someone had brought a match to an unknowing pile of brush beneath his feet, lit his mind aflame, and now his actions were sporiatic, sharpened, _alive._

“While Dream was slaving away in the kitchen, I picked up the star of the meal,” Sapnap interrupted George’s musing, triumphantly holding up a bottle of white rum and dumping several other items onto the counter. Ingredients to a mojito, he realized. 

Chuckling at Dream’s indignant huff, George plucked the liquor from Sapnap and began to inspect the label. He felt eager to occupy his hands, restless from awkwardly standing while his friends moved about the kitchen. They were part of a predictable routine, and he was the disjointed gear, unaccustomed to foreign machinery. 

Glancing around the room, George worried at his lip as a life in progress stared back shamelessly. A chess board, half-played, pieces knocked over in what he assumed was a fit of frustration. Takeaway boxes from some local burger joint, seeped with grease and balanced precariously next to the trash can. A few colorful mementos of Dream merch draped over a suede armchair. George felt dizzy, intimidated by so much personality he was expected to assimilate to, anxious if his presence would upset the balance of friendship.

Scared that he was entering into a world he would never be able to back away from.

As if on cue, Dream shuffled to stand by George, tugging off his ridiculous apron and balling it up absentmindedly. 

“Sapnap set the table, hopefully.”

“ _And I did it very well!_ ” Came a holler from the dining room.

“And he did it very well,” Dream reiterated matter-of-factly. And then, chucking the red and black garment behind him with exaggerated ease, he slung an arm over George’s shoulders in a way that cooled his insecurities slightly, hungry warmth short-circuiting the passages of George’s worry. 

“Let’s eat.” 

And it must have been in the way yellow light slanted onto the dining table, fingers of steam curling delicately from porcelain dishes, Sapnap making a face as he poured drinks, that George felt a heady sort of anticipation grip his sternum loosely. His friends, his situation, _Dream,_ it was all so uncomplicatedly good. Too good. 

The kind of good that left you addicted and aching for more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLYYYYY, IVE BEEN CRAVING ROMANTIC TENSION SO HARD.  
> I'm genuinely so pumped now, I absolutely LOVE writing their lil flirty scenes. And y'all, it only get more intense. Be on the lookout for chapter five: Intertidal (have you caught on to my extremely obvious chapter title themes yet? Look up what intertidal means if you want a little foreshadowing hehe)  
> Excerpt from upcoming chapter because I have been absolutely speedrunning this writing - "“Is this what you thought I’d look like?” Dream asked, flushed presumably from the steaming sink, damp towel in hand. The smattering of freckles against his nose were prominent, too prominent, as he tilted his head in thought, and George felt his tongue become horribly pliant."  
> Please feel free to leave comments, criticism, or ideas down below. Love you all!  
> <3 Nev


	5. Intertidal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George cannot help but wade into the volatile ocean of Dream, struggling to tread water, mind and body dangling on the precipice of exposure while he tries to smother his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guysssss, I've been dying to post this absolute banger of chapter for a hot minute. My final edits are always tedious, but I wanted to put this out there as quickly as possible because C'MON! Can we please get to the smut already?!?  
> (FYI - unfortunately there isn't smut in THIS chapter 'cause we gotta build that relationship of course, but soon! I promise! Also issok cause this one has got a shit ton of romantic tension hehe)  
> Again, thanks for taking the time to read this!! I'll never not be in awe of people that express their interest in my writing, it truly makes my day :)  
> And of course - CC's have expressed their consent for works like this being published. If at any time they change their minds, this will be deleted.  
> Enjoy!!

“This feels like fucking suburban family dinner,” Sapnap chuckled, spearing a steak from the platter of aromatic foods.

Under the warm overhead light, seated at the circular dining table just past the kitchen, it did feel a bit like a gathering of sorts, everyone prepared to discuss their day in between home-cooked bites and polite laughter. But Dream’s culinary efforts would be wasted on the coffee table in front of the TV, they agreed, and besides, the story of George’s trip was eagerly awaited. Not that he had much to say, at least that was appropriate.

He tried, though, lightly explaining his last moments with his mother and the following flight. His friends found his foreign impression of Florida amusing. Sapnap described with devilish laughter when he first saw “scared, little Georgie” all alone in the vast East Coast, and Dream haughtily went over a car he planned to purchase in the future. 

“George wants to learn how to drive in the Mustang,” Sapnap said with teasing betrayal, “He told me.” 

Scalloped potato hovering on his fork, George spluttered with a blush to match the car in question. “It was a _joke,_ Sapnap. A joke. Ever heard of one?” 

Dream sat back, ice tinkling as he swirled his mojito in amused thought. George couldn’t help but notice the way his long fingers lazily wrapped around the glass. “I mean, I’d consider it.” 

“Wha- Dream!” George felt too warm all of the sudden, the image of himself and his friend alone for hours in the Mustang without the barrier of technology making his jaw clench. He could barely focus with the _real_ image of Dream playing through his vision, the way the man’s tanned skin disappeared under his hoodie, how his hands flexed when he cut through steak, the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. It was all so ridiculous, but George refused to confront the part of his mind that was in charge of the observations. Instead, he chalked it up to awe at finally seeing someone in real life who had only ever existed with a powering-on of his PC. Totally reasonable. 

“No, I’m serious. It’s got good control, great safety parameters. And honestly, sounds kinda fun.” Dream ignored Sapnap’s vocal indignancy at the unfairness. Apparently _he_ hadn’t been able to drive it at all.

“You picked up George,” Dream reminded, ever the rational figure of authority.

“That doesn’t count. You’re playing favorites and I’ve lived with you longer,” Sapnap crossed his arms, laughter dancing in his eyes. 

“Whatever, whatever.” George was eager to drop the subject, already unseemingly flustered by the discussion and overwhelmed by the intimacy that meeting his friends beheld. Everything was more dynamic in person, something George didn’t think was possible. It felt even easier to banter, and he worried how this newfound freedom could loosen his tongue, trickle secrets through his lips and into their close companionship. He set down his mojito. “You’re just tipsy. You’ll change your mind.” 

Dream scoffed into his drink. “I am _not_ a lightweight. I’m the one that has to drag Nick out of clubs most of the time. In fact, I’m perfectly clear-headed.” He sat up straight and made a show of folding his hands in mock seriousness. “I’ll be your driving chaperone, young George.”

Sapnap could hardly contain his giggles, buzzing from the drinks and the energy flooding through dim lighting. 

“You both forget I’m older than you. Much older. Seniority is not to be taken advantage of.” George fluttered his hands exasperatedly. 

“You want to be taken advantage of?” Dream raised an eyebrow.

Sapnap snorted, laughing harder at George’s scandalized expression.

“No- _no,_ that’s not what I-”

“Oh, Georgie, I think it is,” Sapnap said, the rambunctious opposite to Dream’s quiet, fiery smirk. George felt his heart turn, face heating up at the attention, the comments, the atmosphere. The humidity hovering outside seemed to have filtered through the crack under the door, and now George could hardly catch his breath. Eager for something to occupy his hands and vision, he began to gather dishes, Dream’s fragrant cooking thoroughly devoured.

“C’mon George, you don’t have to do that. We’ll get it.” Dream poked Sapnap, startling him from a lazy yawn.

“I mean, I’ve got no qualms. I’m tired as shit.” 

“Nick-” Dream started, but George quickly interrupted with a half-smile. 

“No, it’s cool. He can go to sleep. It’s technically daytime in England, so I’m fine to clean up. In fact, I’d prefer it.” 

With a tired expression of gratitude, Sapnap clapped Dream on the back in thanks for dinner and pulled George into a half-hug, diverging from his natural teasing attitude to sincerely describe his happiness that the plans had worked out, that George had made it. It did feel like the perfect climax to so many nights within a screen, the poetic counterpart to all the dinners they had indulged while talking over discord. George smiled, returning his friend’s excitement as he cautiously stored the last of the mojito. 

And then, after a “night Clay, night George, have fun showering together!” trailed down the hall from Sapnap’s room, they were alone. George immediately regretted accepting clean-up duty, petrified at the idea of Dream’s hands brushing his own or sliding past each other to put ingredients away. Just like online calls, the mood always shifted to an intimate sort of quiet when it was just the two of them. Gentle. Warm. And, of course, it was only worse in person. 

“I hope that wasn’t too crazy for you. We’re both just happy you're here,” Dream said, wetting a washcloth to wipe the counter. He seemed to be cautiously dipping a toe into the still water that surrounded them, testing the atmosphere with his words. 

George bit the inside of his cheek at the sentiment. “Not at all. I mean, it’s weird, for sure. I’m used to complete silence the moment I hang up from our calls. But it’s kind of nice to, I dunno, hear that you guys are always around.” Dipping his head in embarrassment, he instantly worried if he had said too much. If the boundaries in each other's presence were different than through a microphone.

But Dream smiled, seemingly content with the hush of vulnerability that had come over them. It eased George’s nerves, which had been working overtime since he boarded the plane, vexing his mind with worries and images. Or maybe it had started the moment he agreed to this move.

Either way, it was finally calmer now, George methodically spreading suds along plates, rinsing them and placing them in Dream’s larger hands for drying. The sink was small, and every so often their bodies would press together as they exchanged dishes, hindered only by the thick presence of hoodies. George had to consciously keep himself still, hiding the instinct to jolt every time he bumped Dream’s hip. The realness of the moment, of the man, was more than disconcerting.

“A lot of your stuff arrived last week,” Dream said lightly, pulling George from deep inside his mind and back to the soapy sink where his hands were buried. “We put it up in your room. Sapnap tried to go through the boxes, but I stopped him.” His left cheek dimpled with a grin, hair hanging in front of his eyes in a way that mesmerized George. 

“Oh. Thank you.” Despite himself, George smiled. It was impossible not to, he realized, around his friend. Somehow, seeing Dream’s trademark rashness play across his tanned face in real time couldn’t help but spark humor, joy, all around him. It was endearingly obnoxious. 

Allowing himself to slip further into the fresh smell of soap and wet skin, George began to relax his cinched muscles, become more liberal with the way their bodies brushed together. Together, they teased out quiet jokes and amused conversation, distracting from the task at hand in their own, patient little world. It was so peaceful, fragrant with the easy nature of Dream, the warm Florida night, and lingering aftertaste of white rum, so ready to collect George’s inhibitions and tuck them away. 

“Is this what you thought I’d look like?” Dream asked, flushed presumably from the steaming sink, damp towel in hand. The smattering of freckles against his nose were prominent, too prominent, as he tilted his head in thought, and George felt his tongue become horribly pliant. 

“Better, honestly,” he confessed, his words colliding against the marble countertops and reverberating back to him until he could hear himself, and oh god, he’d never drink again. 

But Dream only laughed, unaware of the crimson stain latched to George’s cheeks, chuckling in that aggravatingly carefree way of his that couldn’t stop burrowing under George’s skin. 

“George!” 

And something about the way he said it, the way the name thumbed from his lips like a curse and a promise, injected with sinister intentions but wrapped in a breezy smile knocked something loose in George’s brain. The words he tried so hard to bury under layers of false reassurances and empty threats resurfaced, the ones that burned a hole in his headphones a mere few days ago. 

_Don’t stop. George-_

It felt so humiliatingly redundant to revisit the moment once again, but it didn’t absorb the lightning bolt that sung through George’s body, knowing the mouth that uttered such filthy words was _right there,_ still chuckling softly over his comment. The jolt was so deep, so shocking, that George dropped the plate he was scrubbing into the silky water, fingers twitching and abdomen clenching. _Right there, right there, right there--_ his mind was an error, a broken code he couldn’t fix. 

“Woah, you alright?” Dream laughed, but his tone was curious, probing. He reached into the soapy water, fishing for the dish and holding it out to George-- to be met with no response. Because now his _hand_ was the center of George’s stare, bubbles sliding down his wrist like transparent crystals, and all he could think was what that fist did on the call. The position of his fingers, the tempo of his bicep, the way he must have teased himself to his groaned sentences. 

The thought sent waves through George, rocking him mercilessly against this entity of _Dream,_ threatening to bring him down. 

_I thought I was in control,_ he bargained with himself, desperate, unanswered. 

“George?” Dream’s voice had lost his teasing edge, genuine concern curling the edges of his name. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I just thought… maybe I should start unpacking. Are you okay to finish up here?” George shuddered back into himself, searching for a getaway where he could escape the godforsaken gray space of lust and confoundment. Guilt nipped at his heels when Dream’s brow crinkled with confusion, but the possibility of exposing whatever the _fuck_ was going on in his head made George feel as though he had stepped out into an open chasm. Running away was a better option.

“Sure, of course.” Dream was quick to lace up any inconsistency in his voice, George could tell. He had probably settled on some easy, unemotional excuse for his friend’s behavior, like exhaustion or homesickness. George didn’t blame him.

Dream couldn’t _possibly_ know the cocktail of emotion that poured through George’s brain when his friend flipped his hair out of his eyes. He would never understand the way any sort of physical touch between them wracked George’s body with enough confusion and misunderstanding to last a lifetime. 

“Great, I’ll just, uh… I’ll just head upstairs.” Retreating, George pushed through the heady atmosphere of the kitchen and out into the hallway where he could _breathe._ The air felt cooler there, and while fresh oxygen was a welcomed reprieve, George couldn’t help his shiver. 

It felt wrong to be so affected. He was a _guest_ , for god’s sake, and just because he paid a share of rent didn’t mean he could carelessly confuse his relationships like that. These were his friends, and he would behave as such. He wouldn’t create problems. 

George flinched as he heard the tap turn on, Dream presumably taking his place of washing the dishes. But this, he knew, was better than exposure. So instead, he mounted the stairway, taking his time as he dragged a hand along wooden railing and listened to the busied shuffling down below. Peace tentatively rested it’s head on his shoulders, pressing him forward to the entrance he knew was his, courtesy of the Skyped house-tour Sapnap had done for him months ago. 

Back then, his room had been a carpeted box that echoed with every word, dormant and bare. No furniture, no sign of living, just wide, unsheathed windows and a holding place for George’s inclusion. 

The same layout was exactly what he expected now (save for the almost-violated boxes Dream had mentioned), which made for quite a surprise when he pushed open the door to a dressed bed, vacant gaming area waiting for his setup, nightstand decorated with a softly glowing lamp, and even a dark green fern placed in the corner that reminded him too much of Dream’s eyes.

In other words, intimate. 

Cardboard containers enclosing most of his old life were stacked neatly in a corner, juxtaposing the comfortable furniture and lived-in atmosphere. It was almost laughable, the idea that his friends had conspired to make the trip less of a reunion and more of a homecoming, being their comedic, irresponsible, rough-and-tumble selves. It was so outrageous that George couldn’t help but crack a grin, his earlier worries about Dream edging away to allow for pure giddiness.

Wasn’t this every young man’s aspiration, to live with his best friends, making money by playing games and doing stupid pranks? He had so much to appreciate, and here he was, moping. 

Of course, the issue of his feelings still remained. The way his mind was being pulled in a thousand directions was certainly a problem, but not pressing enough to stop George from lifting the first few boxes off the stack and eagerly laying out the contents, reveling in the soft fabric of his old hoodies and the cool plastic of his headphones.

He had been under the curious impression that his two lives, English and American, couldn’t coexist. But admiring the way a pile of his old books fit perfectly in a slot of his desk, George thought that maybe, maybe, they could. 

..........

A knock sounded at the main door, drawing him to the present. 

“Uh, George?” 

Exactly the voice he hoped to hear. Washed with excitement, George shoved aside thoughts of their previous encounter with the messy resolution of ‘ _I was jet-lagged and nervous. It’s fine’._ Yanking open the door, he barely glanced over Dream’s confused face before tugging him inside by the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“I was just gonna ask if you wanted to take a shower before me-- what are you doing?”

George ignored his question, impatient. “Did you do this?” 

“Huh?”

“This.” George swept his arm across the expanse of the room, encompassing the navy bedspread and framed photos of the ocean. He turned back to Dream, examining the way his hand raked absentmindedly through his sandy hair. “Did you do this?”

“Oh, your-- um. Yeah, I guess. Well, I mean, kind of… I asked my mom to pick out some stuff on my credit card and, I dunno, told her your preferences.” Dream stared down at George’s waiting expression, rambling to fill the silence. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to live somewhere so bland, but I know you would never waste your money on anything other than a shitty bed frame, so I figured I’d help out. Is that weird? Do you not like it? Sapnap chose the desk,” Dream added helpfully, fiddling with his lime-green cuff.

It was odd, George thought, seeing someone so tall and confident reduced to an insecure blush. Kind of sweet. 

He bit his lip, banishing the outlier of the thought and instead focusing on the worried expression in front of him. “No, Dream, this-- this is so nice. Why wouldn’t I,” He flushed, resuming his position in front of his boxes, “why wouldn’t I like it?”

Height and strength returning to Dream’s posture, he chuckled along with George, hesitating before plopping onto the bedspread with a sigh. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make this whole move easier on you, I guess.”

George stilled, gripping a pile of sweatpants, and smiled at his friend with a sincere sort of promise. Dream’s forest gaze collided with his own, locking in a scorched stare. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, it’s… it’s no problem.” Dream looked off to the side, obvious in his scanning for something to dissipate the intensity of the moment. George let it slide, feeling the flutter of his own heart rate pump uncomfortably hot through his body. He focused on piling his clothes instead, divvying up fabrics and styles only to be interrupted by a gleeful shout from behind him.

“George, you _kept_ this?! Holy shit!” Dream’s voice was loud, amused, sprinkled generously with laughter, and George could only _imagine_ what he was holding. He turned sharply, head already racing with excuses, only to see a small, reflective shape engulfed in Dream’s large hands.

Marbled. Carved. Baby pink. George groaned.

Dream held the small quartz elephant up to the lamp, fascinated and rippling with mirth as the light warped through the stone.

“You bought this in that one video, like, a year ago. Why did you even bring it?” As Dream turned his grin onto him, it was all George could do to hold back the fierce blush as it threatened to swarm his cheeks. 

“Oh my god. It’s literally just a stupid memento. Why are you acting like you caught me with fucking contraband? Jesus,” he grumbled, which, of course, only exacerbated Dream’s echoing wheezes. Half-regretting letting his friend into his room in the first place, George made a swipe for the small figure, which Dream easily held out of reach. 

“What was that thing you said that everyone clips all the time?” He ran his fingers across the grooves of the figurine, and George swallowed thickly. “Mmm…oh, right. ‘One and a half inches,’” Dream mocked, twisting his low voice into a poor British drawl that sounded oddly cowboy-ish. 

George lunged once more towards Dream’s fist, only to miss spectacularly. “Yes, and I bought it with my own hard-earned money--”

“Money I _gifted_ you,” Dream interjected. 

“--so why wouldn’t I keep it? You’re so dramatic.” George reached again, though this time he was finally able to wrap his fingers around Dream’s wrist, pulling it down eagerly, yet curiously met with no resistance. It was only when he lifted his head that he _saw._

Hot, shivering flames entrapped in the green glass of Dream. An ocean of unsaid words roiling beneath the surface, bubbling over into the grip he now had on his friend’s arm. Dream loomed, sitting on the bed with his legs planted over the edge while George kneeled in between, and the position drove a knife through George’s lungs.

He couldn’t breath, he was drowning, but the suffocation felt so deliciously _good_ when Dream’s skin burned beneath him and an exhale coursed through his parted lips. George’s fingers twitched. They were so close. Too close.

Wrenching his hand away as though he had been scorched, because he _had,_ George pulled the quartz trophy from Dream’s lax grip like that had been his intention all along, and moved away quickly. He knew that a cursory glance would reveal the layers of crimson stained against his cheeks, and he desperately tried to calm himself. Oxygen, rich and light, dragged against his throat as he struggled to breathe. 

“Fine, you win. It is kinda cute, I guess,” Dream spoke from behind him, effortless, tone buttered with nonchalance.

And for whatever reason, his voice, silky from an uncaring yawn, grated against George more than anything else. He _saw_ the fire in Dream’s eyes, he _knew_ it was there, even for just a moment. And yet, as George had practically unraveled at the touch of his friend, there was not a swatch of blush on Dream’s face, not the slightest tremor in his hands like the ones that were prodding at George at that very moment. It was… _absolutely infuriating_ , he decided. 

“Well. This was fun,” George fought to keep his voice regular, afraid that it would twist and snap and reveal his shock at any moment, “but I think I’m going to take you up on that shower, if it’s okay.”

“Alright,” Dream drawled, pushing himself off the bed and crossing to George’s dimly lit doorway. Partially basked in the darkness, his face looked even sharper, jawline like a blade of shadows, emerald eyes cloaked in a heavy gaze. “I’ll wait ‘till morning, so take your time.”

It was then that George realized the detail that made Dream so fascinating, edged the desire into his mind to lock him away so that he could understand the rivers of thought and valleys of emotion that were so unlike George’s own. 

Dream was juxtaposition. He was a living, breathing paradox, a collage that contrasted colors so severely even George could see them. He was still and then he wasn’t, he was controlled until he suddenly exploded with a fuse of energy. He was the merciless sea that George had wandered into innocently enough, which led to him now clutching a raft and spitting up briny seawater every time Dream _moved._ He was alight with joy and care and tenderness one moment, and the next, red. Shadow. Storm clouds. 

George felt the realization in his bones. He felt his addiction to the man on his tongue. And he felt Dream’s next words in a decidedly unrefined spot, flinching as blood rushed low.

A wink, a chuckle, and an empty doorway; “Make sure to lock both of the bathroom doors, George. Wouldn’t want to get any ideas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy there, top Dream hehehe (I'm kidding!!!) ((I'm not kidding))  
> So a few people have asked about the kiss (and consequential smut, though it might not occur at the same time lol) which obviously needs to happen soon. Don't want you guys falling asleep on me! The plan in my drafts right now is for chapter 6, maybeee chapter 7, to include that. I promise I won't drag it out. Stick with me!  
> Soooo, be on the lookout for chapter six: Seastorm  
> Excerpt from upcoming chapter because what is sleep? - "And at the first glance of the figure, George’s toothbrush came dangerously close to falling out of his mouth. Because there, in all his bronzed glory, was a shirtless and equally shocked Dream."  
> Oop. Remember, always feel free to leave comments, criticism, or ideas down below. It makes me so happy to interact with you guys :)  
> <3 Nev


	6. Seastorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With storm clouds forming on the horizon, George grapples with images of bare skin, dark smiles, and acres of churning sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo? It's Sapnap's birthday? That's pretty neat? Perfect time to post this chapter amiright  
> Thanks to everyone who is reading, leaving kudos, or interacting in the comments! Whatever you're comfortable with, I love and appreciate you guys!!! Makes me so happy :')  
> Alsooo I made my twitter public, and I'd love to see you all there! I'll probably post updates, excerpts, and anything else, so come find me @coffeequartz (also lowkey interact so we can be besties)  
> As per usual - CC's have expressed their consent for works like this being published. If at any time they change their minds, this will be deleted.   
> Enjoy!!

George awoke to the muted sound of falling water, the smell of fresh steam settling on his upper lip. It was soft, comforting, but when his eyes creaked open in the ascension of sleep, discomfort scraped grainy swaths across his body. 

An England morning usually consisted of grey skies bleeding into a window, cold air chilling skin and blankets burrowed deep. Despite fantasizing about the beginning of his American existence for months, George was not prepared for the sharp sunlight that pierced his drapes and the humidity that circled his torso. Turning over with a tired mumble, he found it in himself to smirk at the knot of blankets he had unconsciously cast to the edge of his bed from the heat. 

It was hot, and the sound of water was making George hotter.

Because in his careful analysis of the steam, the noise, and the shut bathroom door, he was able to make the educated deduction that someone was taking a shower one thin wall away from his bed.

_ Dream  _ was taking a shower one thin wall away from his bed. 

George buried his head against the sheets, aggravated and jetlagged, unable to reconcile the conglomeration of emotions marinating in his gut. After a merciless few days, he could begrudgingly acknowledge that the discord call with Dream had awoken a curious shadow inside of him, stirring fire and storm in a toxic sort of arousal. 

Fine. He would admit it.

But George would not,  _ would not,  _ divulge the way his harmless attraction had stumbled into dangerous territory since touching down in Florida, transforming George’s usually calm persona into reckless wonder. He cursed his mind, the way it couldn’t stop  _ noticing.  _ Dream’s face, hands, voice. On repeat, a record broken by lust. Overnight, it seemed, the delicate drip that was his interest in Dream had pooled into a raging ocean, and George could feel himself being pulled under _. _

But it certainly wasn’t love. It wasn’t even ‘like’, George thought stubbornly. It was just the unfortunate byproduct of spending all his time holed up in his apartment, alone and pressed against the hypnotic lights of his computers, resulting in a dry spell the size of the Sahara. Maybe getting laid would crush the annoyingly forceful thoughts of Dream, who, as he reminded himself, was  _ his best fucking friend.  _

And anyway, he’d come to the conclusion that the discord call couldn’t offer him an ounce of relief. Based on Dream’s flippant behavior and nonchalant smirks, it was clear that his sinful actions were experimental and evidently unrewarding. If he truly possessed such heady attraction to George, it would’ve been obvious. George would’ve been able to read him plainly, as brash and thoughtless as the man was. But it wasn’t, and he didn’t. Dream was bored, and George was obsessed. Fuck.

The pleasant swish of water dissipated with a gentle creak of the faucet, which George recognized from his own shower last night. He had taken the time to collect himself, let the soap erode the edges of his anxiety and, embarrassingly enough, bat away the hard-on that George had been trying to ignore since Dream left his room. He  _ refused  _ to indulge in such thoughts ever again, still warding off the tangle of emotions that his last erotic episode following Dream’s voice had caused. 

Half-heartedly listening to the gentle shuffling of movement in the bathroom, George pulled himself out of bed with belated effort and tugged a hoodie over his flushed chest. Was the AC even working? It certainly didn’t feel like it. 

Pressing a hand against his growling stomach, George knew the next logical step would be to emerge from his room, smiling and well-rested, ready to discuss the day with his friends over breakfast. Conversation. Warmth.

And it was odd, George suddenly realized, to interact with someone else so early. Not a chattering profile picture, but a real, physical person, unhindered by technological glitches, unbound from the limits of webcams. The thought twined nervousness and joy throughout his muscles, reacting together to create a heady sort of spark bubbling in his lungs. It was a far cry from the usual dampness of solitude that he awoke into every morning.

George was not, by any means, a shut-in. Sure, his skin was a shade of unblemished ivory so pale he could’ve been holding a sign that shouted “ _ I never fucking go outside!”,  _ and okay, maybe his hair had grown out an inch or two into a wavy mess not because he took stan twitter’s advice, but because the idea of sitting in a barber’s chair for close to two hours without gaming or online friends to supplement the time made him want to lobotomize himself, but that didn’t make him a hermit. It didn’t make him weird. It just made him… lonely.

_ I’m lonely. _

The thought didn’t strike him as sharp or as hard as he’d anticipated. It was like the slight pressure of a wave rolling against skin, the sea gently consoling George in his admission. 

His life, for years, had existed in his mind and in his computer. There was little else that occupied him, tethered him to reality. He was like his mother in that way, George noticed. Simple things grounded them, anchored them in the swirling ocean of existence. His aunt and himself were the usual rocks to his mum’s drifting soul. They kept her gaze forward when she started to look back. 

And George…he was beginning to realize his connections might not always be enough. He floated away too often. But with Dream last night, he remembered, he had never been more present. So utterly  _ consumed  _ with the way Dream’s blood pumped under his wrist, breath hot and honey-like, laughter molding George’s smile. It felt so natural. Like he was meant to be there.

Huffing, George turned towards the bathroom that he knew Dream had vacated, derailing his train of thought with a mental flick. His mind had steered, yet again, to the ever-present heat hovering in the dark crevices of his thoughts. It was ridiculous, and he refused to cooperate with his greedy subconscious. 

Yanking open the bathroom door and inhaling the residual waft of fresh steam, George spread a messy wad of paste on his toothbrush and shoved it into his mouth, hoping the minty foam would clean his brain instead of his teeth. 

He was so preoccupied with his internal monologue of ‘ _ get your mind out of the fucking gutter’  _ on repeat that the gentle exhale of wood against wood, of bathroom door opposite to his own being opened, made him jerk and spin around. And at first glance of the intruder, George’s toothbrush came dangerously close to falling out of his mouth.

Because there, in all his bronzed glory, was a shirtless and equally shocked Dream. George didn’t spare more than a glance at his expression, though, instead practically gawking at tight abs prefacing even tighter pecs, sculpted muscle dipping down eventually to reveal the smooth shadows of Dream’s collarbone. His biceps tensed as he pulled his towel tighter around his waist, exposing the slightest jut of a tan hipbone that drew George’s gaze magnetically, blush slipping down his face.

“Uh, sorry, um. I was just-- I forgot,” Dream said disjointedly, gesturing to the bundle of a black sweatshirt discarded on the floor to finish his explanation. It would’ve been funny if George’s throat hadn’t just become impossibly tight, toothbrush still hanging from his lips like a mock cigar. 

“Sorry,” he said again, plucking the item off the floor and backing away, though a smirk was beginning to crawl up his face, “I didn’t know you were in here. Uh, come downstairs when you’re ready, I think Nick made breakfast.”

George found it in himself to manage a singular nod; a victory, he thought, as Dream pulled the door shut. He swore he heard a receding chuckle as the handle clicked, but he couldn’t be sure over the pounding of blood that echoed in his head. 

He  _ knew  _ this whole thing was foolish, knew he needed to spit before toothpaste dribbled down his face, knew seeing roommates partially or completely nude was just part of the gig, but his brain refused to compute. He felt light-headed. That teasing hipbone was branded to his mind. 

“Sap says it’s getting cold… whatever  _ it _ is!” Dream’s voice punched through the door, and George shook himself. Right. Just friends. Just a random, shirtless guy. Horribly unattractive, too. George was  _ not  _ turned on right now.

Pulling his toothbrush out of his mouth, he rushed through the motions of getting ready, not allowing himself another second to ruminate on tanned skin, long fingers, defined abdomen. Deciding a pair of black shorts was his only way to survive the lingering Florida heat, George hesitantly made the trek downstairs, smiling at the sweet symphony of banging pans and raucous arguing that grew louder with every step. 

“Morning,” he said tentatively, once again standing at the crook of the hallway, just before it opened up into the marbled kitchen. A grey space, a resting point. 

“George! Just in time. How’d you sleep?” Sapnap waved heartily from his position in front of the stove, standing before two smoking pans with a determined grin while Dream tried to yank a wooden spoon out of his grasp. “If you could just control Clay over here, that would be lovely! He seems to be under the delusion that I’m burning the eggs. Poor guy, so confused.” 

“Oh my  _ fucking  _ god, they’re turning black. They’re literally turning black. You actual dumbass.” Despite the unfading image of Dream’s body that George had an eyeful of minutes ago, the indignancy of the man’s voice couldn’t help but pull shocked laughter from his dry throat.

Sapnap’s grin widened, believing the battle won, “You see, George? I’m afraid he’s lost it.” He attempted a sympathetic pat to Dream’s shoulder, which was violently knocked off as he continued to struggle for footing in front of the pan. 

Cautiously avoiding the grappling of the two, George fought to contain his amusement as he proceeded forward and peered onto the expanse of the stove. 

“Sapnap?”

“Yes?”

“You’re definitely burning the eggs.”

.......... 

Despite loud complaints about a malfunctioning burner and a pan that curiously lost it’s non-stick element, breakfast was salvaged, courtesy of Dream and his put-upon smirk. Sapnap had finally given up ownership of the wooden spoon, and they were all now seated at the small breakfast bar that bookended the kitchen, haphazardly discussing plans for streaming.

“Sapnap, you and I could do a video next to each other? You know, with face cam,” George suggested, swirling his glass of orange juice.

His friend’s nose wrinkled, fork loaded with eggs and paused in front of his scowl. “I dunno, it’s been forever since I’ve recorded like that. Not sure I’m up for it.”

“What about,” Dream began, gesturing wildly with a forgotten piece of toast in his hand, “Minecraft, but we all control a different part of the joy-cons. Like, physically this time.”

“So... _no_ face cam?” George asked.

Dream frowned, gears visibly turning in his head as he considered the most user-friendly approach. Despite the move being largely motivated by enjoyment and accessibility, there was a significant amount of publicity that followed, and drawing off of it with several joint videos and streams had been declared by Dream to be the best course of action. “I guess there wouldn’t be. Although, we could do a commentary stream of sorts where you speedrun or something and Nick and I sit on the floor.” 

“Sounds uncomfortable,” Sapnap snorted.

“Sounds awkward,” trailed George. 

“Hey, I’m just trying to get ahead of the views. Fans are gonna be dying for this shit, and we have to prioritize that.” Dream sat back in his chair, plucking a banana from the fruit bowl and allowing his words to settle.

Silence descended. Everyone looked down at their respective plates, and George could feel the palpable struggle to weight individuality and success. No one wanted to lose their carefully built following, but it felt wrong to exhibit such personal relationships to the masses. He understood the feeling well. It was difficult, they all knew, to maintain a life when the lines between privacy and publicity were so blurred.

“Mmm,” George began dramatically, lathering amusement onto his words in hopes of driving away the impending career difficulties. “These eggs are wonderful, Dream. Care to share the secret?”

A smirk blossomed, easing his friend’s tensed jaw. George ignored the flashes of a bare torso that bore upon his mind when Dream spoke.

“I’m so glad you asked, George. See, it really comes down to the simple procedure of  _ using the stove correctly.  _ First, you should always--”

“God, you guys are awful. Even Karl treats me better than this,” Sapnap retorted sullenly, though the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, only drawing more laughter from the pair. “I swear, it’s all about the time of day. Breakfast kills me, but dinner? I can make a  _ bomb ass  _ hamburger. I’ll literally prove it, too. Let me make dinner sometime. I’m serious!”

“Okay, sure,” Dream interrupted, a half-smile etched darkly against tan skin, “but not tonight, remember?”

“Tonight…?” Sapnap muttered, clearly sifting through his memories at Dream’s prompt. “Oh! Tonight. Yeah, right.”

“Sorry, but what’s tonight?” George frowned, uncomfortable with being ignorant of the plan. 

Dream opened his mouth, but Sapnap interjected with a rowdy slap to George’s back, sloshing the glass of orange juice in his hand. “We’re going out, George! To the beach, that is. Now that you’re an official Florida man, we figured it was only right.” 

“If you’re okay with it, of course. We’ll do whatever is most comfortable for you,” Dream added with a stern glance to Sapnap’s unassuming chatter. 

“No, totally. Sounds fun,” George managed, though his heart seemed to stutter around Dream’s words. His thoughtfulness. 

“Great.” A shared smile, a whisper of heat between mouths that left George shivering. He looked away quickly, stamping down the tide that rose in his chest. Now was not an appropriate time for his routine emotional turmoil. 

Slotted throughout lewd jokes and makeshift plans, breakfast was cleared, Dream breaking off early to take a call in his room. Sapnap and George finished the job with less tact, spraying and bumping into one another followed with wheezing hushes as they tried to avoid disrupting Dream’s meeting. Twice, an annoyed thump was heard from the ceiling above, and George had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. 

And despite his half-soaked hoodie, happiness pooled in his chest, dripping down his ribs and dissolving into affectionate joy. Business opportunity be damned, he was here to have fun with his friends. To foster the relationships that had gotten him through every hard-won valley of his life, to lean against his pillars of support from halfway across the world.  _ He deserved this.  _

..........

“I just think,” Sapnap’s haughty voice crawled from the back of the Mustang, eliciting a groan from both George and Dream, “that I deserve, as one of the OG’s of the house, to always get shotgun.” 

“You deserve absolutely nothing of the sort,” George hummed, leaning back in the front seat with exaggerated ease. 

After a day lulled with quiet preparation as Dream took calls, Sapnap edited, and George unpacked, all three men desperately craved time to unwind, a moment to reconnect, pulling away from the hazy sheen of technology. 

And so, aided by a cooler of beers, a bag of takeaway (or takeout, as Sapnap needlessly reminded George), and a pile of beach blankets, they were off, devouring kilometers of highway under the abrasive Florida sun. Sapnap’s complaints about being beaten at Rock Paper Scissors by George, which had earned him the roundtrip ticket to the back seat, echoed petulantly against the quiet rap humming from the radio.

But despite the noise, despite constantly having to fend off Sapnap’s indignant bribery, despite having miles of lush scenery to run his gaze over, George couldn’t  _ help  _ but find every excuse to stare at Dream.  It was humiliating, and admitting it to himself bloomed a sharp bruise of shame against his sternum. But the way Dream’s long fingers rested against the wheel, trailing gently as he pulled the car into a turn, flooded the space between them with unlabeled heat. 

And maybe it was in his head, brought on by humid delusion, but George could’ve sworn that Dream knew when he was looking, and responded in the most agonizing way. Jaw tightening, green eyes hardening, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and George could  _ barely take it _ . 

Suffice to say, he was glad the drive was short. The dirt parking lot was sparsely occupied when they pulled in, which Dream explained as result of the oncoming rainstorm.

“The locals know we have plenty of sun, though. It’s just tourists that stay home,” he said, turning off the ignition and swinging open his door. George cleared his throat and followed suit. He gulped in briny air at the apex of the beach dunes, praying the clarity of the ocean would refresh his mind. Sapnap was last to exit the vehicle, tossing a glance loaded with unspoken questions George’s way that made him recoil. Was he really that obvious?

“George, can you help carry the blankets?” An innocent call from behind the car, giving him an excuse to tear his gaze from his shoes and sidestep Sapnap. And he realized, then, how exhausted he was by maintaining this wall, always on edge and terrified that the conundrum of his and Dream’s relationship would be acknowledged, exposed.  _ Control yourself, control yourself, control yourself.  _ Such a feat had never been difficult for him before. 

After trekking down the path wedged between grassy dunes, illuminated by golden breaths of sunset, they were settled and laughing, George working overtime to banish any thoughts of Dream as the ocean lapped calmly against his nerves. It wasn’t hard, surprisingly enough, and he credited it all to his environment. The smell of warm sand and the taste of sea was achingly familiar. Letting his eyes close against the wind, he could almost feel his mother’s arm draped over his shoulders in a slim embrace. Their conversations had been hurried the past few days, texts slipped in between disjointed sleeping schedules and calls that ended in yawns. It was nice to feel at home again. 

“George, which one you want?” Sapnap nudged his shoulder, holding up two brands of beer while eyeing the fast food bag. 

Unfamiliar with the colorful American labels, George plucked a can out of Sapnap’s hand at random, shivering as wispy clouds briefly encapsulated the sun. He tried, and failed, to suppress a smile when Dream wordlessly tossed him a blanket. 

“So,” Sapnap began in a tone that was unlike his usual playful cadence. He drew the syllable out, divvying up orders of food and leaning back to survey the small crew. George raised an eyebrow.

“So?”

“So, I thought I’d let you know that my plans solidified.” He lifted his chin, chewing on a fry with a half-smile.

“I am supposed to know what you’re talking about?” George frowned.

“No. But I’m gonna tell you.”

“By all means,” George responded dryly, picking at his burger in disinterest.

“I’m leaving in a week.” 

“ _ What? _ ”

Sapnap tossed his head back in laughter, though his eyes were illuminated with something more than humor. George, for his part, was sick of the all-knowing arrogance that seemed to exude from his friend at the most confusing moments, and went back to his burger, red ears be damned. 

“Care to elaborate?” he said, forcing his voice to remain neutral. 

“My parents are selling our old house, so I’m going back to Texas in a week to help. I’ll only be gone for a few days, but I figured I should let you know. Sorry it’s so close to your arrival, dude, I wanted to hang out more.”

George blinked, feeling like his mind had just been twisted out of his body. Sapnap leaving meant… well, it meant him and Dream’s relationship would be completely unrestrained, wouldn’t it? It was clear, at least to George, that tension built into a palpable storm when it was just the two of them. How would he even  _ try  _ to navigate that?

“But anyway, they want to meet you guys, so I think they’ll fly back with me and stay the night before traveling to Tampa Bay. They have friends there,” Sapnap explained, blessedly ignorant to George’s plight. He frantically worked to piece together his jittering mind, folding his expression into what he thought was an appropriate response.

“Oh, that’s cool. I’m excited to meet them.” He twisted his face into a grin, though it felt wooden. “Did you know, Dream?”

He turned to his friend, who he hadn’t realized was watching him intently, verdant eyes sparking when he was addressed. “Yeah, Nick’s been talking about it for a while. I just wasn’t sure whether it would work out or not, but… yeah. Just you and me then,” Dream chuckled, swirling his beer casually. 

And it was then that the second wave of emotion hit George, though it was decidedly less somber and much more explosive. Excitement. He would be alone with Dream and unbound from the classic limitations of friendship, something that, by themselves, they had never been burdened with anyway. It had always been different for them, and George wanted to hate himself for thinking it, but he couldn't. It was true. Together, they were exceptional. 

His next smile was real.

“Well, I’m glad we’ll be able to meet your parents, Sap. In the meantime,” George gazed at the watercolor sky, feeling sparklers graze his ribs, “it’s kind of hot.” He threw the blanket off his shoulders, licking excess fry salt from his fingers and waltzing down the stretch of beach to where water met sand. 

He turned back, eyes instantly clashing against the white heat of Dream’s stare. It was so similar, too similar, to their encounter last night, but this time he was only emboldened. “Care to join me?” He waded in up to his ankles, blissfully cool water nipping at his skin and sand slipping silkily between his toes. Dream’s body tensed, and he allowed himself to revel in it. 

“C’mon Dream,” George teased, lingering on the word with a grin, “you’re not scared, are you?”

Dream scoffed, looking down to wipe grease off of his fingers, allowing amber waves to flop in front of his eyes. “You’re an idiot. Why the hell would I be  _ scared?  _ It’s just cold.”

George hummed, moving further into the waves so that his calves now disappeared under glassy water. “I dunno, kind of  _ sounds _ like you’re just scared.”

“Jesus,  _ fine. _ This is so dumb,” Dream huffed, standing up with an exaggerated groan and dusting off his shorts. “You coming, Nick?” 

Sapnap hesitated, though George was too far away to interpret his expression. “Nah, I’m chill here. You go.” 

“Not like I have a choice, I guess,” Dream grumbled, though the amusement weaving through his words was now apparent. He stretched and began to walk towards the water that was now knee-high on his friend, though his next movement, fluid and unassuming, nearly made George swallow his own tongue.

Digging his feet into the sand, Dream had tugged off the thin red t-shirt that had rippled against the wind, giving George the second image of tanned muscle and sculpted bone that day. A bit excessive, some might say, but George was hardly complaining. Instead, he was ogling, he realized, pausing for a beat of indulgence before ripping his gaze away and sinking further into the water until it lapped at his waist. His hoodie that had been pushed up over forearms suddenly felt much too constricting. 

When Dream reached the dampened edge of the beach, rather than delicately wade like George was currently doing, he elected to dive headfirst into the billowing waves, punching a laugh out of George’s chest. Their opposite approach to practically everything was admittedly entertaining. 

Distracted by Sapnap’s amused yell of encouragement from the shore, George jolted when a bronzed, looming figure surfaced just beside him, shaking flaxen hair to shower George with salty droplets.

“ _ Dream, _ ” he shrieked, staring up at a cheshire grin softened with freckles, “that was so  _ unbelievably  _ unnecessary!” 

Dissolving into laughter, Dream sank into the water, and despite the chilling spray that George had to swipe off of his skin, he felt warmth prickle up his spine.

“Why are you just  _ standing  _ there? Do you not swim?” Dream said, voice light with mirth.

It was George’s turn to huff now, turning back towards shore only to see Sapnap deeply immersed in his phone. Maybe  _ too  _ deeply immersed, but that was the last thing on his mind when an impossibly toned man was treading water just a few feet away.

“Yes, I can swim, I’m just choosing not to. I’m wearing a sweatshirt, anyway,” He said with a breezy sigh, lips twitching.

“Then take it off.” Dream stood to his full height once again, and George was taken aback by the commanding intensity suddenly injected into his tone. 

“Uh-- I’m sorry?” Thousands of half-baked thoughts crashed against George’s mind like the roiling waves, bringing with them a stir of torridness in his gut and a whisper of arousal in his veins. The swells of water seemed to have seeped into his lungs, an osmosis of desire he couldn’t control.

“You heard me. Take it off.” Dream’s voice was even lower now, gravely against George’s ear, which his sinful lips were awfully close to. Glassy droplets slipped from his hair onto George’s neck, blazing trails of fire against his skin.

“Okay.” He didn’t know why he was listening, why he cared enough to dangle off of every one of Dream’s words like they came from the mouth of a prophet, but he nevertheless pulled off the sweatshirt dazedly, which Dream yanked from his hands and threw onto the beach. George’s eyes slid across his shoulder, biting his lip at the rippling muscle and tendon. His own body tingled as unhindered ocean air caressed skin, a slight shiver tickling his abdomen. The whole situation felt surreal. 

“And now,” Dream murmured, leaning his feverish presence even closer, green eyes flinty, “we swim!”  He dived backwards, splashing water against the pale expanse of George’s chest once again. But it was not the algidity of the ocean that gave him goosebumps, instead the dizzying lack of space between their bodies that left George lightheaded and  _ irritated.  _ He didn’t know what he expected Dream to do, but it certainly wasn’t that. 

“What the  _ hell? _ ” 

Dream’s chuckling smile popped above the surface of the water, and George swore the man’s eyes greedily traced the graceful arc of bone and lean muscle of his torso. He dipped his body further into the water, suddenly aware of how exposed he was. 

“What?” Dream laughed after a moment, backstroking a lazy circle around George’s flustered person. “You said you would swim. So swim.” 

George ached to remain stubbornly above water, arms crossed and hair dry like a petulant child intent on disobeying. But the brackish embrace of the sea was inviting, reminding him of a feeling he thought he had left behind in England. So, with one more sigh, he eased himself fully into the insulation of the ocean and, despite the fact that he was plugging his nose and stalling his lungs, it felt like the first time since arriving in Florida that he could  _ breathe.  _

It was so inviting that his first exhale when breaching the surface was an airy laugh, but it dried up instantly when he saw the look in Dream’s eyes. He had stopped swimming at the sound, now standing lofty and imposing as water halfheartedly teased at his waist. More compelling, though, was the way all of his attention seemed wholly and euphorically directed at  _ George.  _

And George, feeling the way Dream’s gaze ruthlessly dissected him, wanted to look away. Wanted nothing more than to sink back under and wallow pleasantly in the notion that this aching _need_ __ would never be fulfilled. But Dream and his devilish stare had him pinned, ricocheting a feverish confession throughout his mind, stopping just short of his tongue where it could spill from his mouth and ruin them both. 

“Hey, the clouds are kind of rolling in now, you guys!” George heard Sapnap’s holler from the shore, disrupting the sparks of connection that he was almost, for a terrifying half-second, tempted to indulge in. He thanked God that his friend had the ignorant premonition to interrupt, suddenly worried about what he might have done had their moment together only extended. 

“Yeah, we should probably head out,” Dream said, gaze cast down and the lightest tinge of a blush swept against his cheeks. George prayed he wasn’t imagining it. 

“Okay.” He didn’t want to leave, not ever, but it was comforting to know this place would always be here, just like his sanctuary in England. Just like his mother. 

As they waded out of the beckoning waves together, hands occasionally brushing in the slightest exchange of heat, George felt a delicious sense of promise wriggle it’s way into his bones. The tension was rising, that much he knew, and he bit his tongue at the idea that it would fall in his favor, whatever that might be. Sapnap was leaving, but things were only just beginning, and George had an entrenched gut feeling that it would be more than shared glances and promising beach trips. 

Much more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ajshdjfsjkafd I dunno how I feel about this chapter. I'm a lil worried about pacing, but we're gonna go with it because I literally don't sleep anymore heheh.  
> Y'all, I am VERY excited for next chap's plot, so stayed tuned for: Tidal Wave   
> Excerpt from upcoming chapter because my doc for this fic is like 50 fucking pages lol - "And so, in his uniquely manipulative way, George was determined to find all of the buttons on Dream’s lofty figure and _push_."  
> Hehehe  
> Of course, feel free to leave comments, criticism, or ideas down below. I love talking with everyone :) Thanks for reading!  
> <3 Nev


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